They started gathering, mulling about like cows desperate to graze on grassy fields, around 1 p.m. Even as I stood more than 100 yards away at my place of employment, I could hear the shouts, the yelling, the anxious positioning from one foot to the other.

They seemed to come out of the woodwork, pouring from every angle imaginable. They came walking around various corners of buildings, running from alleyways, jogging through semi-empty parking lots.

And as they gathered outside of Mother’s bar, just off the downtown square, Saturday, I felt a shiver run up my spine. This bar crawl, 600 people strong, resembled more a zombie apocalypse in the making than anything else.

And Charleston residents did well to avoid these mobs. In such times, doors must be locked and hatches must be battened down.

As Eastern students will be on Spring Break during “actual” St. Patrick’s Day, getting drunk on sandy beaches or simply their parents’ basements, they must spend the weekend prior doing exactly what St. Patrick himself would (i.e.- wear green beads, drink green beer, expel green vomit, after all, practice makes perfect).

Although I’m not quite certain on the validity of that last statement, as recent years have taught me that whatever the holiday may have once stood for has been replaced by debauchery. You know, it’s just the way Irish people would like to see their nationality celebrated.

Either way, welcome to “Unofficial” St. Patrick’s Day in Charleston.

At 5 p.m., Mother’s closes its doors and sends the drunken gaggle of students out into the town. And Charlestonians must be prepared.

Having witnessed this imaginary and hilariously ridiculous holiday for years, it always reminds me of a bad film from the ’70s.

You know the ones of which I refer. They are the movies in which a sleepy, little farm town is happy in its little existence until, once every year, the townsfolk must go into lockdown mode, just as I suggested earlier, and hide away in their attics, root cellars, etc.

Shotguns locked and loaded, the innocent residents do their best to ride out the night.

However, in this scary tale, as rationality prevails, it is the students outside who are “loaded,” not the town folks’ shotguns.

But still, every year, they stumble and bumble down the streets, wandering aimlessly. Well, perhaps not aimlessly. After all, even if one’s goal is to simply find a place that dispenses more alcohol, at least it is still a goal. Bravo, students!

The fact is, while it may be a harmless bit of fun and, just like this year, typically goes off without much harm done, some said students who begin their drinking at dawn will always do something embarrassing to themselves and potentially annoying to others, whether it is falling down in someone’s yard or vomiting at a local eatery. But, as I said, this year’s “Unofficial” is now a thing of the past.

Congratulations, Charleston! We made it through another one and we have that much more practice for the real zombie apocalypse. So, unlock the doors and put down the shovels. We have another year until the next “Unofficial.”

Wait a minute. What’s that? Some students stay in Charleston

during Spring Break? While our guard is down?! Dear, God! Someone get the torches!

David Thill is a senior journalism major. He can be reached at 581-7942 or [email protected].